Despite having wings, and being described as a skulking, inconspicuous bird in the literature, they just strolled straight down the driveway, apparently sight-seeing. "Ooh, garden! Ooh, bird-feeder! Look at all that bindweed, tsk."

They were clearly a couple. One of them hopped up into the low branches of a tree, and the other bird looked over and waited, pacing around the driveway, muttering about whether it would kill me to give the house a good power washing, and glancing at the tree until he came scrambling out of it. (Thrashers, in my experience, are much like cats–they fall off things with a great deal of flailing, do a flip, and land neatly on their feet.)

"Come on, idiot," muttered the first thrasher. "It’s just a tree."

"It was a great tree!" said the second one enthusiastically. "It had LEAVES and BRANCHES and BARK and ooh! ooh! I think I saw a worm!"

"Worms don’t live in trees," said the first one, wondering why she hadn’t gone off with that sexy mockingbird from Siler City when she had the chance.

"…it might have been a tree worm. Maybe."

They kept walking, until they passed out of my line of sight. Whether they will stick around the area, regardless of tree worms or their lack, remains to be seen.